Buoy
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: It was sad, Sara was very good friends with very many ghosts.


Thank you to Laura Katherine for the incredibly late night beta. Damn you Marlou, making me go to other people. See what you make me do Mr. Cheesefires!

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She wanted to be with him. Was it too much to ask? She thought not. Then again, the things she thought weren't all that real. Though, as she always reasoned, there was an upside to the absurdity of fantasy. There was a certain security in fiction. If her were written by Tolkien or King or Poe, she was sure she'd be living a much more exciting life. 

It surely would be devoid of romance, but it would be interesting and severely unrelenting.

Lately, there were lulls in her animation. There were days when she refused to sleep, too hot on the lead of a case to rest. Then again, there were other days when she would be reluctant to leave the comforting grip of her quilt. She, of course, would be thinking of him, of the simple things.

Dishes, he would be doing dishes or taking out the trash. In other seldom-dreamt fantasized they would be loving each other, body to body. But that wasn't what she needed.

She needed his kiss, his touch, his ear. Mostly, she needed his gaze to land on her with utmost concentration. Not the gaze of a man who was torn, but the gaze of a man who loved. A man who loved wholly and completely and she doubted if that wish would ever come to fruition. He was too hampered by the real things, the actual and immediate. Gil Grissom wasn't a man who tended to think of the what if and chase after a ghost of a chance.

It was sad, Sara was very good friends with very many ghosts.

It was no matter, there would be no other for her and not because she didn't want there to be any others. It was only because she knew that he was the perfect polar for her, the only one who would ever really do. The only one who would ever mold to her so completely.

The point was moot. If if he didn't want her, she'd pretend rather desperately to move on. Pretend was the key word in her mind.

Something struck a C on the string of her heart when she gazed upon him. God, he was so amazingly imperfect, willing to admit he was wrong, battered. Sara held the spackle, ready to glaze over all of the imperfections, so willing to look over all of them and make him. It would surely be a fragmented symphony with many staccato notes, few crescendos and many codas bringing them back to the beginning, but if she could endure the clichés and metaphors, then she could handle a few musical slip ups.

She was actually rather tone deaf, so it didn't matter much.

Years of pure heartbreak had led her to the point of absolute resignation. Puzzles, she'd loved them. Her piece would only fit with his and his... well with hers and maybe someone else's, but regardless, she was always holding out for the hope that he'd flip around and mold himself to hers.

Heartbreak had been in his past as well. Something had to have happened to jade a person so; if he'd only open up to her, she would be selfless and caring, and even if it meant simply helping him overcome something, she was willing to be there for him.

It was shocking, how much of herself she was ready to relinquish in order to fulfill the needs of another. She would give everything, anything for him. She'd put her soul out on loan; she would have mortgaged her heart for him, all for him.

He was in the dark, somewhere deep down, hating himself. He was torn, like she had once been, unable to see, unable to reach out and take someone's hand. Perhaps he'd never had anyone there, but then again, neither had she.

The thing that he might never know unless he dared to try was that she was always there to grasp onto. She'd always, always be there because she had to be.

He'd been willing to take a chance on her from the beginning and now... well she just tended to repay things tenfold. It was a flaw or perhaps a benefit, whichever way one would tend to look at it. His interest had waned whereas hers had waxed in a way, growing and building, until she was sure she would burst with the full meaning of her feelings for him.

That was how much she loved. Sara Sidle was deficient in many ways, but she loved so fully that it made up for anything

Completely, totally, endlessly, selflessly she loved. Wholly and absolutely she loved. She would never stop, never, ever, ever.

She too was battered, strung out, hopeless, but still, she clung to the hope that she was loveable, that she was able to love him, that he would let her. There was a great chance that he would never let her in, never let anyone in.

The tears she cried, silent and salty, they were slowly rusting the hinges of her body. She didn't know how much longer she would last, how much longer she would be able to walk, to trail after him. Hands grasped onto the edges of the idea of him, and her love clung on like lungs attempting to gasp for air-her body was so tired of waiting.

She'd be there in spirit, and her heart would remain but her body was no longer willing to idle alongside him. There was a chance that if she stood stationary much longer, she would no longer be able to start up.

God, she could only take so much. She could only take so much rejection with the shadow of bright hope lingering in his gaze. There were only so many twisted comments that her brain could process.

Her love was there, she put it out for him to take. Her palms were open, her heart was open, her body was open and she was weeping for him to take it... because she knew, she **knew**... he needed it. Sara wished he would just take what she was offering; it would be so much **easier.**

She hoped, she prayed, she cried out... she didn't want to be stranded in love.


End file.
